The End of Halcyon Days
by Starlit Skyline
Summary: The memory of a perfect day both haunts and comforts you in your darkest hour. Is the past worth saving?


_AN: Some of you might have noticed that the title of this fic is an allusion to my other story, chapter 4 of Illusionist to be specific, though you don't need to read it to understand this. And yes, this is another Jack/Oswald/Lacie thing... what can I say, I just love writing about them! Also, I don't own PH. As always, R&amp;R!_

* * *

The End of Halcyon Days

The chitter-chatter of birds drifted through the air in a pleasant buzz. Leaves rustled gently above, whispering sweet summer breeze as water rippled in a nearby pond. The sky was clear, dotted only by the occasional puff of white, allowing the sun to warm his face with it's soft touch. Among the cacophony of sound and sensation, he could hear his sister's sweet voice and a laugh echoing with unbound joy. He didn't need to open his eyes to know to whom they belonged to.

In this rare moment of blissful serenity, Oswald found himself content.

The sunlight seemed to chase away all the shadows and dark thoughts clinging to the clogs of his mind. He didn't think about betrayal or family or death or duty. No, Oswald could sigh, now, at peace with the world, and just listen to the symphony his sister brought to life all around them. He may have drifted off at some point, for the next thing he knew his shoulders were being grasped and he was being pulled upwards. His eyes snapped open and he half wondered how anyone could have snuck up to the next Glen Baskerville and half cursing himself for letting his guard down.

Jack just laughed, the sound clear as the ringing of a bell.

„Come on, Oswald!" he said, tugging at his coat-sleeve like a child. Still, Oswald refused to get up – he was far too comfortable. Jack, however, persisted. „You shouldn't be napping on such a brilliant day!" he claimed, tugging at him once again.

From a few feet away, Lacie chortled at the scene „Yes, brother, I had half a mind just to leave you there. You looked rather comfortable."

She pouted, then „But Jack insisted."

Jack shook his head „It would have been a waste not to include him."

Lacie smiled too, though her's was slightly more wicked „Yes, I suppose you're right!"

Oswald merely gave her a half-hearted glare. His sister always tried to get a reaction out of him, for some reason Oswald couldn't even hope to understand. However, he remained unmoved. Lacie huffed, turning her back on him. Apparently, she'd marked him as hopeless. Jack however, looked down at him with a mixture of pleading and growing disappointment. „Come on, Oswald." he all but whined.

The blond offered a gloved hand eagerly, green eyes alight and shining with emotion. It startled the heir of Baskerville, for Jack's eyes rarely revealed any of his true feelings.

„Please." the Vessalius pleaded.

Oswald stared at him, stared at the proffered limb, blinked, and took it. A moment later, he was on his feet. Jack beamed at him, though the contact didn't last long. Soon the blond spun on his heel, practically skipping back to Lacie with her name on the tip of his tongue, but she'd disappeared.

„Lacie?" Joy long gone, Jack's voice sounded like that of a lost child.

Luckily, Lacie hadn't wandered far. Jack blinked at the hand that suddenly shot out from the grass a few feet away from him. He made his way over cautiously, which was strangely comical.

The Vessalius craned his neck to peer at Lacie's upturned face „Um, Lacie? What are you doing?"

Lacie cocked her head at him, blades of emerald grass caressing her pale cheek „I'm looking at the clouds silly! Come on, lay down!" Her hand was on his braid in an instant, pulling him down with her.

Jack landed with a dull _thud!_

Lacie's laughter rang out in the sunbathed clearing, the place almost glowing from the light.

„You too, Oswald!" she called joyously „You don't get to ruin my view!"

The older sibling merely shook his head, but a small, fond curve of his lips still snuck onto his face „Such children..."

He made his way over to them, a stark contrast in his billowing dark cape in comparison to Lacie's frilly white dress and Jack's peridot jacket. He sat in the grass next to them, but was soon tacked from behind by his capricious sister, who laughed and laughed and laughed until the sound was stuck in Oswald's head for all of eternity.

* * *

Glen found himself sitting in his study a few months later, thinking of that day as the shadows of the fireplace danced across the walls and the corners of his mind. The sky outside was downcast and gray. Rain fell like icy daggers as the night slowly descended on the Baskerville Mansion like a ghost.

Glen watched the droplets of water bang at his windows, spurred on by the bitter wind. It was as if nature itself was wailing, cursing him for his very existence. His heart felt heavy, yet his chest felt empty. Glen wondered, despondently, if this was the feeling that had haunted Jack for so long. Jack Vessalius, yet another ghost to haunt him for the rest of his days. Right beside the woman he'd loved. Yet another person he could not let go of. Yet another soul he couldn't save.

Where was he? Glen had to wonder.

It had already been three days since he had broken the news of Lacie's death to the only friend he had ever had. Glen had both killed and drove Jack away with just those few words he'd barely been able to make himself say. Chances were, Glen would never see the younger man again.

The moment Lacie had died, Oswald had been laid to rest with her. Jack had been the one left behind, reduced to a shell of a man – a living ghost – until he, too, followed in their wake. After that, only Glen would be left left – alone, broken, stoic and unfeeling.

A part of him wished to run out there, in the vast unknown, and search for his friend or die trying – and how meaningless had that word _–death–_ become when he could so easily toss it through the tattered edges of his being. He gazed unseeing through the glass, the unrelenting downpour painting the world outside twisted and blurry, but his heart stopped when he thought he caught a glimpse, a splash of green among the gray.

It couldn't be!

Breathe hitching in his throat, Glen tore through his study, doors swinging wide and unattended to bang against the walls as he dashed down the hall like a man possessed. If he passed any of his fellow Baskervilles or servants, he would not be able to recall. There was only one thing on his mind.

The front doors of his home lurched open as he pushed them open with more force than necessary. But that didn't matter, because lo and behold, Jack Vessalius stood there on the threshold, drenched to the bone. Breathless and stunned, Glen allowed himself a moment to asses his friend's condition. His hair of spun gold was dull and lifeless, plastered to his head like a torn, dirty rag. His skin was pale and clammy, cloths so went they were visibly weighing him down. But what disturbed Glen the most was the water still dripping from the blonds face in rivulets, giving the illusion of tears.

Jack avoided his gaze.

Snapping back to his senses, Glen shouted, „Jack! What in the world do you think you're doing?!" His voice stuck somewhere between shock, worry, anger and disbelieving hope.

Jack's eyes gleamed in the dark, twin pools of nothingness in a doll's face, as he raised his head to look at the new Lord of the Baskerville Manor. For a sickening moment, looking into those eyes, Glen thought that Jack might have already died. He pushes it away the second the notion dared to voice itself.

Jack smiled sheepishly, though the muscles of his face twitched and contorted strangely, as if the expression were painful „I just thought I'd drop in for a visit!" His voice was too strained to sound cheerful, a far cry from the one of Glen's memory. Jack seemed to realize this too, for he looked away again, as if ashamed. Maybe he was, maybe he hadn't wanted Glen to see him without one of his masks firmly in place and the broken void beneath bare for all to see – though none would.

Quietly, Jack said „I can come by in a few days if this is a bad time."

Glen shook his head, something lodged deep in his throat and gut twisting with both dismay and an uneasy hope.

„Get in here, you idiot."

Glen didn't ask where he'd been for those three days since they had parted last, didn't quarry after the family Jack only belonged to in name or the state of Jack's health. He simply stepped back and let Jack in and out of the cold, cruel night – glad to finally have his friend back.

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_How do you feel after reading this? Did you like it? What do you think? I want to hear your opinion!_


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